


Let Me Tell You the Truth (I Can't Hide From You)

by LovesFrogs



Series: Unrelated Irondad Drabbles [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Emotions, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Irondad, Mental Link, Mind Reading, Minor panic attack, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Skin Hunger, Spells & Enchantments, Telepathy, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Tony Stark, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, emotions are hard, happiness, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 19:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20179588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesFrogs/pseuds/LovesFrogs
Summary: Peter and Tony are doing well. Peter is officially an intern, and Tony loves showing him new things in the workshop. However, things change when the pair encounters an artifact that lets them hear each other's thoughts.(Or: One more fic where Peter and Tony care about each other, but this time they can't seem to admit it without magical intervention)





	Let Me Tell You the Truth (I Can't Hide From You)

Peter swung from building to building in the fresh morning air, grinning and whooping as he finally reached his destination. He had to use his enhanced strength to pull the window open before crawling in and pulling off his mask. “Hey, FRIDAY. Where’s Mr. Stark?” he said.

“Boss is down in workshop four, Mr. Parker. Should I inform him that you have arrived?” she asked.

“The intern level? Sure!” said Peter. “I’ll be down in a minute.” He pulled some clothes out of his dresser and began to change. It was a good thing Mr. Stark had enough rooms in the penthouse to give Peter a spare because otherwise he wouldn’t have had anywhere to stash his normal clothes for days when he swung in to work. Spiderman didn’t carry a bag, and Peter couldn’t really afford public transportation every day, so he didn’t know what he would’ve done without it.

Plus, now that he had a room, Peter had an excuse to crash at the tower whenever he didn’t feel like swinging back home on Friday nights.

Once Peter deemed himself sufficiently ready in work pants and a Spider-Man t-shirt that Mr. Stark had thrown in as a joke, he grabbed an apple from the kitchen and told FRIDAY to take him to workshop four. He happily bounced up and down on his toes the whole way there.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Peter was squeezing his way into the room. “Junior!” one of the college kids called, waving him over. “We didn’t know you were coming today. You’re earlier than usual.”

“Hey, Kyle,” Peter said. “It’s summer! Junior year is officially finished and I’m in the clear!”

Kyle laughed. “That would explain it then,” he said. “I assume you’re here because Stark is actually showing his face for once? He’s over there in the corner with Esther and Sarah.”

“Thanks, man,” Peter said, walking over to the corner Kyle had indicated. A few other interns yelled greetings to him amidst their work and he happily waved back at them until he finally caught sight of his mentor-slash-boss pointing out a small flaw in Sarah’s design as the woman herself nodded along. A willowy, dark-skinned young woman who must have been Esther was standing to the side, looking starstruck. Peter stepped up beside her.

“Hey, Kid,” said Mr. Stark, briefly glancing away from the project. “Give me a few here, okay?”

“Sure,” Peter said. He’d met Sarah once or twice before, and her work was brilliant for a professional, much less a college intern. Instead he turned to the girl beside him. “Hi, I’m Peter,” he said, holding out a hand. (He still felt way too young and unprofessional to be shaking hands with the people he met, but he was getting more confident the more often he did it.)

“Esther,” she said, breaking her gaze away from Mr. Stark to give his hand a good shake.

“Is this your first project with SI?” Peter asked. “Mr. Stark usually gets down here every month or two, and I like to come if I can because I’m his intern or whatever and all the people here are so cool, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You were super lucky to get paired with Sarah, though. She’s been here forever and she’s so smart! She’s graduating at the end of the summer and I bet Mr. Stark will hire her on the spot if he hasn’t offered her a job already. You’re in college right? Where do you go?”

Esther was staring at him. Peter’s cheeks heated up just a little and he paused. Whoops. That was probably too much at once, wasn’t it?

“You’re right, this is my first project here,” Esther said quietly. Her somewhat shell-shocked expression faded into something else, and her lips quirked into what Peter hoped was a smile. “Sarah is very smart. I’ve just finished my second year at MIT and I’m staying here for the summer. How old are you?”

Peter grinned sheepishly. “I’m actually only seventeen. Mr. Stark likes me for some reason, so I mostly get him coffee and follow him around. I have seen the Iron Man suits, though, isn’t that awesome? And he pays me like, literal money for this, so win-win! But anyway, what have you guys been working on? How are you getting along?”

“That is pretty cool,” Esther said. “Sarah has been friendly and bossy. She swears in Mandarin when she’s excited or angry, but she didn’t realize I could understand her until I told her I studied it in school.” 

Peter laughed loudly and asked about the project again. Esther started pointing out different parts of the design for him, explaining how they would all work together. Her voice grew more confident as she went, but it remained quiet and steady. Peter wished he could do that. Instead he had to settle for the fact that his voice had finally stopped cracking embarrassingly whenever he tried to speak at all.

Peter got so absorbed in their discussion that he didn’t even notice Mr. Stark until the man tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around so fast that he stumbled. 

“Whoa there, kid,” Mr. Stark said, steadying his shoulders. “C’mon, want to help me in my workshop or stay here with your new best friend?”

“Wow, fine then,” Peter pretended to grumble, rolling his eyes. His big smile probably ruined the act. Mr. Stark just raised an eyebrow over his prototype FRIDAY glasses. “See you later, Sarah!” Peter called over his shoulder before following Mr. Stark back into the elevator. “It was nice to meet you, Esther, I’ll see you around!” 

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Peter turned to Mr. Stark. “You should visit this floor more often. The interns all think you’re the coolest thing since sliced bread,” he said.

Mr. Stark smiled. “But, see, I know that includes you, Parker. I don’t have to go anywhere for someone to think I’m the coolest thing since sliced bread because you insist on following me around all the time.”

“Can’t deny it,” said Peter easily, “but maybe someday I’ll just decide to hang out with them all the time instead of you. Esther is pretty cool, and everyone knows I’m Kyle’s favorite.”

Mr. Stark scoffed. “Yeah right. That guy doesn’t even know your name, he just calls you Junior all the time. What’s up with that?”

“Intern secret, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “That’s highly confidential.” He mimed zipping his lips.

“Oh yeah? Well--” Mr. Stark was cut off by FRIDAY blaring an alarm at them.

“Excuse me, Boss, but Dr. Strange is calling. He says that a group of thieves has broken into the Sanctum and planted several bombs around the property. They have been caught, but he requests assistance in disarming the explosives.”

“Let him know I’m on the way,” said Tony. The relaxed atmosphere from a few minutes ago was gone. Peter hesitated. He wanted to help, but Mr. Stark would be mad if he snuck out without asking. 

“Can I come?” he said.

Mr. Stark opened his mouth and Peter was sure he would refuse, but then the man stopped and glanced over at Peter carefully.

“You remember how to disable a standard bomb? And the usual alterations and triggers in specialized cases?” He asked.

“Yes!” said Peter eagerly. “Come on, this is like the first thing you taught me! It’s a great way to get experience and you’ll make sure I’m fine, so honestly it’s a lot safer than my usual patrol, and--”

“Fine,” Mr. Stark said. “But you check in with me and ask if you need it, okay? That’s the deal.”

“Yes!” Peter grinned, pumping a fist in the air.

When the elevator reached the penthouse Peter practically ran Mr. Stark over in his haste to get to his room and change. His super hearing picked up Tony grumbling about “over-excited children giving me heartburn” and he laughed. He swung out the window as Mr. Stark took off, both moving quickly toward the weirdest wizard house in New York.

Dr. Strange obviously had everything under control when the pair arrived. The villains were nowhere to be seen, and Peter wasn’t really sure that he wanted to know what he had done with them. The only problem was that the huge open space right inside the door was now full of debris and knick knacks that had been displaced. Several precarious piles were forming under Dr. Strange’s careful portals and watchful eyes.

Mr. Stark let his suit retract as he looked around the Sanctum. “Wow, Doctor, I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “Personally I prefer a more navigable floor plan, but the aesthetic is really something, I must say.” 

“Can it, Stark,” Dr. Strange said. 

Mr. Stark huffed. “Well, despite what Pepper says, I can tell where I’m not welcome. FRIDAY, scan for explosives.” 

“Done, Boss,” said the suit, apparently showing Mr. Stark where they were located.

“Perfect,” Peter heard Tony mutter. “Underoos! There’s one on the ceiling for you. Go crawl up there on the dome and take care of it while I get the ones closer to the ground. The good Doctor can continue his spring cleaning while we work.”

“You got it!” Peter said. He climbed until he could see a faint blinking light and hear the slightest ticking sound. He might have felt uncomfortable listening to Mr. Stark and Dr. Strange arguing on the ground, but honestly, disabling a bomb while the two geniuses tried to snark each other into submission was one of the best experiences of Peter’s life to date.

The bomb wasn’t even that complicated. Mr. Stark had made sure to teach Peter his way around this type of thing backward and forward ages ago.

“Good work, Kid,” said Mr. Stark after Peter crawled back down from the ceiling a few minutes later. “Well, Doctor, if that will be all, I guess we leave you to your yard sale.” He wrenched what appeared to be a bent crowbar out of a leaning tower of wreckage. “What is this even supposed to be?”

As soon as his mentor grabbed the whatever-it-was, Peter’s spider sense started to ring in his ears. He watched in horror as the junk pile, which reached well over Mr. Stark’s unprotected head, began to collapse. 

“Watch out!” he yelled, shoving Mr. Stark out of the way, which unfortunately put Peter right in the danger zone.

He threw his arms over his head as a wave of trinkets and artifacts swallowed him whole. The noise of clanking metal filled his ears unbearably and something heavy hit him right in the small of his back, knocking him to his knees.

Finally the roar of noise quieted to a ringing in his ears. Peter shifted and opened his eyes. He moved to get up and hissed when something jagged and cold sliced right through his suit and into his palm. Luckily, the cut wasn’t deep and Peter wasn’t buried far. He pushed a layer of what appeared to be spoons and baskets away and staggered to his feet. 

Mr. Stark was shouting his name.

“I’m here!” Peter called. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Mr. Stark’s shoulders slumped. “Get over here, you stupid idiot,” he said, but there was relief in his voice. Peter began picking his way through the rubble, mindful of sharp objects this time. “What is all this stuff for, Dr. Strange?” he said as he moved, doing a weird little skip-jump over an angry-looking metal box. 

“Most of it is ancient artifacts that haven’t been sorted through for centuries,” said Dr. Strange. “But I believe they also ransacked my kitchen supplies and the closet where Wong has been putting anything we don’t know what to do with.”

“Huh,” said Peter. That explained the spoons, anyway. He finally approached Mr. Stark at the edge of the wreckage, and it shouldn’t have made him happy to see the relief on his mentor’s face, but Peter was glad to know that he did actually care at least a little. Sometimes he just wished they could read minds so that they knew exactly where they stood with each other without needing to have awkward conversations about it.

Unfortunately, Peter’s thoughts distracted him enough that he forgot to watch where his feet were going, and he accidentally kicked a carved metal sphere about the size of his head straight up in the air. “Whoops!” He caught it on the way down. When the ball hit his injury it gave a nasty throb, and Peter tripped over his last few steps towards Mr. Stark, shoving the thing into his hands instead. It started vibrating, then flashed faintly. 

“Ow!” Mr. Stark said, dropping it on the ground. “It bit me.” Wiping his bloodied finger off on his shirt, he quickly turned to check Peter over.

“No more missions today, Kid,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, running his eyes up and down Peter’s frame carefully. “Any damage?”

“Just this,” said Peter, holding up his hand. “It’ll be gone in an hour.”

“Good,” Mr. Stark nodded. “C’mon then.”

“Bye, Dr. Strange! Good luck with your sorting!” Peter said before following his mentor out the door and swinging back to the tower. It was a bit of a pain with his injured hand, but Peter had dealt with worse. They landed together on the roof.

“How’s the hand?” said Mr. Stark, retracting his suit. 

Peter shrugged. “It’s fine. I just need a little gauze or something so I don’t get blood all over my clothes when I change out of the suit.”

“Gauze and antiseptic,” Mr. Stark said to himself. “Okay, Kid, I’m going to trust that you’re telling the truth here. We can fix that up with my first aid kid and then finish the day in the workshop, capiche?” 

“Yes!” said Peter. “Let’s do it!” He wasn’t going to complain about any plan that kept him out of the medbay 

They walked down to the penthouse kitchen together, Peter trailing behind Mr. Stark’s quick footsteps and nervously babbling the whole way. Mr. Stark wasn’t usually the one who stitched him up, and Peter was a little unsure of the procedure here.

He hopped up on the counter while Mr. Stark pulled a well-used first aid kid from a nearby cupboard. “This might sting a little,” he said, digging through the kit and coming up with a roll of gauze and a tube of some kind of antiseptic. 

“Uh… how much is a little?” Peter said, staring at his hand as Mr. Stark carefully took it in his own. His mentor’s skin was rough and warm. “Not that I’m worried or anything, ‘cause I know you wouldn’t hurt me, and I’m Spider-Man, so I’ve definitely felt worse. But pain in a medical kind of setting is never fun, you know? I mean--”

“Kid. You’ll barely feel it. Okay?” said Mr. Stark. He brushed his thumb gently over Peter’s wrist before he seemed to catch himself and immediately froze.

Peter felt the tight knot of tension in his shoulders loosen a little, and he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” he said. Life was so weird. Mr. Stark didn’t just touch people like this; in fact, he generally shied away from any and all physical contact (except for Pepper and Col. Rhodes, from the few times Peter had seen them around). Peter could count on one hand the number of times Mr. Stark had voluntarily initiated a touch, and he’d been hanging around the workshop for a year and a half.

Mr. Stark unscrewed the tube and awkwardly dabbed a generous amount across Peter’s cut, which had almost totally scabbed over already. Peter braced himself, but it felt more like a light tingle than actual pain. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and his shoulders finally fell back down from his ears.

“Not so bad, right?” Mr. Stark said. 

“Yeah,” muttered Peter, cheeks heating a little. He’d acted like such a baby in front of Mr. Stark! Good thing the man either ignored it or didn’t really notice at all. There was an air of awkwardness around this whole situation that almost made Peter wish he’d just gone to the medbay, but there was also this weird impression that Peter was getting of… genuine concern? 

After the antiseptic cream had been rubbed in to Mr. Stark’s satisfaction, he shifted his grip on Peter’s hand and wound the gauze around it a few times for good measure before skillfully tying it off. Peter wondered who else he’d done this for in the past, because he clearly had experience.

“There you go,” said Mr. Stark gruffly. Peter hopped down from the counter, moving his hand around to get a feel for the bandage. It was a bit scratchy, but secure. “Meet me in the workshop after you change and we’ll fix that tear in your suit.”

“Awesome!” Peter grinned, dashing off to do just that.

It was a good day. Mr. Stark showed Peter how to fix the suit himself, they checked out a new design that he was working on for improved bulletproof vests for the military, and Peter even got to watch him replace some of the nanobots in his new Iron Man suit! Before either of them realized it, the sky had darkened and Aunt May was calling.

“Hey, May, what’s up?” said Peter when he answered.

“Peter, It’s almost midnight. Where are you?” She sounded more exasperated that really angry or worried. Peter glanced at Mr. Stark guiltily. 

“Whoops, sorry. Me and Mr. Stark are still in the workshop. I guess we lost track of time again?”

“What am I going to do with you?” May sighed. “Stay there overnight, okay? It’s too late to start a patrol and I don’t want you swinging home in the dark if you can help it. I worry, you know.”

“I know. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, okay?” said Peter.

“Okay. Feel free to stay there during the day tomorrow, but I expect you home for dinner. And get some sleep!” she added before Peter could hang up.

“Bye, May,” he laughed, and listened for the answering “Bye, Peter” before he put down the phone.

“How’s Aunt Hottie?” said Mr. Stark, not looking up from his project.

“She says we need sleep, and that I should just stay over at this point,” Peter told him. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Mr. Stark said distractedly. “You’ve got a room, might as well use it. See you in the morning, Kid.”

Peter thought about trying to convince Mr. Stark to sleep, but he knew it was a lost cause when he hadn’t finished what he was working on. Instead he just reminded him to go to bed at some point, or FRIDAY would probably tell Pepper about it. Just because she was out of the country didn’t mean she didn’t scare both of them to death.

Mr. Stark waved him off, but he did listen to the warning, so Peter left him to it.

Things didn’t get really strange until the next morning.  
.  
.  
Peter had stayed over for the night a few times during the school year, so he knew the drill by now. The sun shining through the windows woke him up around 8:30, and he ambled out into Mr. Stark’s state-of-the-art dining room in his grungy t-shirt and shorts to find some food. He eventually settled on a bowl of Chocolatey Trix and proceeded to eat it while sitting on the counter. 

“Hey, FRIDAY, is Mr. Stark awake?” he said groggily. His sleep had been restless and his dreams strange, so he’d probably only really gotten a couple hours.

“Boss will be entering the dining room in a few minutes,” she said. 

Sure enough, Mr. Stark soon stumbled in, blindly groping for the fridge. Eventually he found an apple and bit into it. “Morning, Kid,” he said, collapsing into a chair.

“Morning,” said Peter. _Wow, I think he might have gotten even less sleep than I did. Did he even go to bed?_

“Jus’ couldn’t sleep,” Mr. Stark said, unprompted. “You don’t look so great yourself.”

“What?” said Peter. _ Is Mr. Stark weirdly talkative in the mornings? How have I not noticed this? _

_What’s up with him? Does he think I can’t hear him? _ said Mr. Stark. Except… Peter stared.

_His mouth didn’t move. Wait, what does that mean?_ he thought. Mr. Stark’s eyes opened fully and he jerked up to meet Peter’s gaze.

_Peter?_ his mentor’s voice said. Peter almost dropped his cereal.

_Mr. Stark? What’s going on?_

Mr. Stark groaned and dropped his head on the table. “This has got to be Strange’s fault,” he said. Peter could literally feel his annoyance. It was like another sense was filling his chest with distant emotions that carried the smell or feel or idea of Mr. Stark. He shivered. This was closer to his mentor than he had ever needed to be.

_You and me, both, Kid,_ Mr. Stark thought. “FRIDAY, get me Strange,” he said out loud, putting his phone on speaker. _ Stupid magic. _

Dr. Strange answered on the fourth ring. “What do you want, Stark?” he said without preamble. 

“Do you happen to have anything in your house that could cause a freaky mental connection thing with me and the kid here?” said Mr. Stark. There was a long pause in which Peter stridently hoped that Dr. Strange actually did have such a thing, plus some way to reverse the effect.

“The Sphere of Influence,” the doctor finally sighed. “Or that’s what Wong’s been calling it anyway. Did you bleed on it?”

“Um…” said Peter, suddenly remembering his walk through the rubble, “Was it that big, bronze ball that I kicked up in the air? It landed on my cut.” _Dang it, Parker, Spider-Man is not supposed to be like this!_ he berated himself, much to Mr. Stark’s invisible amusement.

“That sounds like it,” said Dr. Strange mildly. “You say it has connected both of your minds? You hear each other?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Stark.

“Interesting,” Dr. Strange said. “I believe that particular artifact was used to interrogate prisoners centuries ago. Its function is largely guided by intent. Since you weren’t focusing on one particular direction of flow, it apparently just connected you equally.”

Peter was getting impatient. Well, more accurately, Mr. Stark was getting impatient and it was bleeding over to Peter. He lightly banged his head against the wall and sighed. _Why can’t one of my problems be about something normal, just once?_

“So how do we stop it?” said Mr. Stark. “Can you reverse it if we drop by this morning?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Stark,” Dr. Strange said. A stab of fear went through both of them so quickly and sharply that Peter had no idea who started it. “The spell is time-based, so it should wear off in a couple of days. Between one and three, I would say.”

“No lasting effects, correct?” asked Mr. Stark. “Spider-Man is enhanced, so will that change anything?” _What if Peter’s permanently affected? He won’t be able to do anything with me in his head, and I’d ruin his life and May would kill me--_ Peter hadn’t been worried until Mr. Stark’s thoughts drifted over to him, but he suddenly had some more legitimate concerns.

“None,” said Dr. Strange, causing them both to sigh in relief. “Now, if that’s all, I will continue this unexpected cleaning project.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Mr. Stark, ending the call. He very deliberately did not look Peter in the face. Peter could feel his worry drifting over, but it didn’t seem directed at their safety. Was Mr. Stark afraid of what Peter would do?

_Crap,_ thought Peter. _Crap in a can, now I’m going to be bugging Mr. Stark even more than usual. Plus I’m already the worst liar on the planet, so now he’s going to ask me all kinds of stupid stuff that he wants the answers to, and he’s probably listening right now and this is going to be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me!_ He glanced over at Mr. Stark to find the man wide-eyed and biting his lip. Peter tuned into his thoughts without even meaning to.

_Okay, I can do this. No thinking about state secrets. No thinking about personal secrets. He is not going to find out that--nope! Nope! He’s likely listening right now, think about purple elephants!_

Peter tried to stifle his laughter as a cartoon of a purple elephant formed in his mind, clearly sent by Mr. Stark. The feelings he got from his mentor were tinted just so, as if they were all tagged with little post-its that ready TONY. He couldn’t place why they carried a specific moniker for the name Tony, rather than Mr. Stark (which Peter called him) or Anthony (his full name).

_It’s probably because I think of myself as Tony, which he should already freaking call me anyway since that’s how I introduced myself and everything._ (Peter winced.) _His thoughts feel like him, too. _

Peter nodded thoughtfully. “Mr. Stark… Tony,” he corrected when the man sent him a little glare. “I just… do you think it would help if we went to different rooms or, I don’t know, listened to different music or something? I’m on summer break, but I’m sure you’re going to have important stuff to do in the next few days.”

_Not more important than you,_ thought Mr. Stark, and Peter sucked in a surprised breath. His mentor might have turned the slightest bit pink, but all he said was, “Good idea, Kid. I’ll head down to the workshop while you stay up here and listen to music or something, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Y--Yeah,” Peter managed, staying still as Mr. Stark strode out of the room. He could hear the man berating himself for “thinking with no filter,” but he valiantly Did Not Go There and settled himself on the couch with a book and his headphones in. Mr. Stark was apparently actually trying to work, because theories and equations danced in the back of Peter’s head as he tried to concentrate on the plot. He was only minorly successful, and in the end decided he’d better just call Aunt May and give her a rundown on the situation.

_Tell her it totally wasn’t my fault and I don’t want to die,_ Mr. Stark sent him unhelpfully. Peter rolled his eyes and made the call.

“Hey, Kiddo, how’s your day going?” said May when she answered.

“Hi, May. Um… we might have a slight problem,” he said.

She sighed. “All right, hit me with it. What did the two of you get into this time?”

“We may, possibly, have somehow magically acquired the ability to hear each other’s thoughts for the next two or three days?” Peter said. His face was caught somewhere between a smile and a wince.

“You… you what now?”

He gave her a rundown of their encounter with Dr. Strange and his destroyed magical house. “So, is it okay if I just stick around until this wears off? Distance doesn’t seem to be having much effect anyway, and I think it will only get weirder if we can’t actually talk to each other.”

There was a long silence while May was processing his story. “Just when I thought our lives couldn’t possibly become any weirder,” she finally muttered with a slightly hysterical laugh. “Yes, Peter, I guess as long as you are absolutely positive that everything will be safe and temporary, you can stay.”

“Awesome! Thanks so much, May, you are the absolute best.”

By the time Peter hung up the phone the clocks were striking noon. He wandered into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich or three. 

_Oh, a sandwich sounds so good,_ Mr. Stark thought at him. _You should bring one down here for me, but don’t put that icky mayo-mustard combo on it. That is so gross, Kid._

_Whatever you say, Tony,_ Peter thought back. He meant it to sound exasperated and sarcastic, but he had a bad feeling a little more… fondness… had slipped through. Hopefully his mentor hadn’t been paying attention. Peter made the sandwich as his thoughts swirled, trying to ignore Mr. Stark’s louder musings as well. A few words kept trickling in (_...was that? … could he… feels …_), but Peter really didn’t want to know.

His anxiety mounted as he walked down to the workshop, but he could tell that Mr. Stark was nervous too for some reason, so at least he wasn’t alone.

“Hi,” he said when the door opened for him. 

Mr. Stark looked up. “Hey,” he said back, taking the sandwich. “Thanks.” _Act natural. It’s just the kid, I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?_

Peter looked around as Mr. Stark ate. It was apparently a tinkering kind of day, and there were wires, tools, and a mostly-dismantled car scattered all around. _I will literally never get tired of this place. I wonder if Mr. Stark will let me help, since it’s not like sitting upstairs really did anything at all. What’s this? Oh I see…_

Peter forced himself to calm down by focusing on his inner monologue, and listening to his unspoken words actually seemed to relax Mr. Stark as well. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

“Know anything about cars, Pete?” asked Mr. Stark, wiping his crumbs onto the floor.

“Not really,” Peter admitted. Mr. Stark didn’t seem to mind.

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. Hand me that.”

Working on the car wasn’t hard once Peter figured out how the mechanics fitted together. It was easy to forget their little problem when most of the thoughts that drifted between them were things like “I need a wrench” or “is this the right size?” instead of private musings and feelings. Peter was content, Tony was too, and they were working on a car. They lost themselves in tinkering for the whole afternoon.

Peter was trying to remove a weird piece of metal jammed in the car when Mr. Stark stepped out to grab their pizza for dinner. He hadn’t paid much attention, grunting in acknowledgement from under the car and continuing on. After a bit, he finally prised the jagged scrap out and flicked it out toward Dum-E. The robot must have swung around to follow it because the next thing Peter knew, an entire shelf of supplies was raining down on him and the car, and it sounded just like a certain freaking warehouse.

He flailed and hit the car jack with his super strength, flinging it away and causing the car to slam down on top of him with an awful wrenching screech, and his vision went dark. The pain barely even registered amidst the panic that suddenly overtook him. _He was being crushed, the Vulture was going to kill him, he was never going to see May or Ned or Mr. Stark again…_

He tried lifting the car and someone’s hands pulled him out into the open air (_the Vulture?_), so he scrambled back and away to safety.

_I’m sorry, I’m gonna die, I need help, please please please please, it hurts..._

Peter knew, on some level, that he was fine and staying in Stark Tower, and yet that didn’t pause the debilitating panic that was flooding his body and making his brain white out. He cried out for help, tears building in his eyes. The world seemed to be closing in on him and squeezing out all the light. His ears were ringing.

But then there was a tiny spark in his chest, a warm little feeling that didn’t belong in this scene. It made it somehow lighter and better. Peter paused.

The spark grew, gaining layers and unfolding into a patchwork flower of warmth that gently pushed his panic back to the corners of his mind. Peter’s eyes were closed, but he could feel a thousand little pinpricks of light pulling him out of the darkness. There was love there, fatherly love, and Peter was having a little trouble processing it. A comforting arm draped over him safely, and Peter let himself relax into the hold.

“Ben?” he whispered. He didn’t think there was anyone who could feel this for him except the man who had practically raised him, but something about the name felt a shade off. He pulled closer, wanting to be right, wanting Ben there beside him.

“No,” someone said, and it wasn’t Ben’s voice. Peter pulled back curiously, but he wasn’t sacred anymore. He was still wrapped in layers and layers of warm, safe light, and they were coming from this man who loved him like a son. It was making him a little woozy, actually. He blinked a few times, and got a view of worried eyes and a precise goatee. “Tony,” said the man, sounding far away. That… clearly wasn’t Ben. Ben was gone.

Still, the name seemed to resonate with the feelings in Peter’s chest. “Tony,” he parroted back with a bittersweet twist to his lips. He let his eyes close again and fell back toward the man. Memories from Tony were lighting through his head, happy days and eating ice cream and playing a prank on Kyle and the interns. That was right. Mr. Stark. Tony.

A little smile lingered on his face as he let Tony’s murmured words of safety lull him to sleep.  
,  
.  
Tony had grabbed their pizza and begun to make his way back to the workshop when a loud crash from up ahead reached his ears. He almost fell over with the strength of Peter’s instant fear, and he dropped the food in favor of sprinting the rest of the way there.

“Peter!” he yelled. “What’s wrong?”

_Help help help, I’m stuck, I can’t move, help, please…_

Tony burst into the room to find Peter struggling out from under the car they’d been working on, which had somehow collapsed on top of him. There were different parts and discarded tools all over the place, and Dum-E was bobbing sadly in a corner. Disregarding that for the moment, Tony made his way over in about three steps and pulled Peter out by his ankles while the kid kept the car up with his hands. They were both breathing heavily, and the wet, panicked sounds filled the quiet room.

As soon as Tony let go of him, Peter crawled backwards rapidly into a corner. His breath continued hitching in and out with unhealthy gasps and he curled up, rocking back and forth.

_He’s here, he’s gonna kill me, help, please, someone, I’m alone alone alone..._

Tony didn’t know what to do. Sure, he’d known the kid for a while now, cared about him more than he’d admit, but they did science and homework and pizza together. Not panic attacks. Tony was too emotionally constipated to deal with this kind of thing, and he was sure he’d manage to mess the kid up somehow. 

But then Peter’s hands clenched tightly against his knees. “Mr. Stark, please!” he gasped desperately. Waves of fear and pain that felt like Peter were bombarding him, and Tony knew the kid didn’t even know he was there, not really. _It hurts, I’m scared, please help, I’m sorry, please please please please…_ Peter’s thoughts were spiraling. He wished desperately that Pepper or May or Rhodey were here so that they could show him how to do this, but he was the only one. His options were either to leave the kid to struggle alone or try to help. And that would never even be a question.

“I’ve got you, Kid,” he said, putting a hand forward gently as if Peter was a stray dog. He ached to comfort him, but he was also very aware that Peter was a superpowered teenager lost in his own head, and that being attacked was a very real possibility. Not to mention words were not going to get through to the kid in this state anyway. Instead, Tony reached inward. He found the place within him where he could feel Peter, wrestled away the panic and isolation that Peter was projecting, and instead gathered up all the loving, calm, and safe feelings he could muster.

There were a surprisingly high number of those moments shared between the two of them.

_Listening to Peter’s phone messages and fondly complaining about him with Happy. Watching his eyes light up when he was offered something as simple as a visit to the penthouse, or a homework session in the workshop. The day he’d asked the kid to be a real intern and he’d practically lept in for a hug, bouncing around all day with a smile. Letting the TV flicker off after a long movie, running an affectionate hand through Peter’s hair since he was asleep on his shoulder and wouldn’t ever know. Later nudging the kid off of him and half carrying him to bed, both of them mostly asleep. Dropping a kiss on his forehead before he could think better of it. Listening to him ramble about his classes and his friends. _The list went on and on, and Tony took each memory and tried to wrap it around the feeling of Peter like a blanket, warm and soft. He had so many memories, so many emotions… Tony loved this kid to pieces, and he’d never even realized it. Ever so slowly, he telt Peter relax.

Tony didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he opened them. The kid was still squished in the corner, eyes closed but no longer trembling. Tony leaned against the wall beside him and hesitated for a long minute before carefully settling an arm around his shoulders, allowing Peter to slump sideways onto his chest. Tony tensed, but didn’t flinch. The kid’s eyes blinked open, hazy and unfocused, and Tony hoped he hadn’t managed to hurt him somehow. They were practically running blind with all this bond mumbo-jumbo.

“Ben?” slurred Peter, and Tony did flinch, then. They had never once talked about Peter’s uncle out loud, ever. Peter was aware that Tony had found out about his uncle, and yet the emotions were still too painful for him to bring up, even after three years, even if Tony wasn’t absolute crap at feelings. But Tony knew, he _knew_, that Ben was Peter’s Dad in every way that counted. And it _hurt_.

“No,” he said, and was surprised to find that his eyes were wet. Peter stopped and pulled back a few inches to get a blearly look at his face. Tony meant to say more, but his voice didn’t seem to be cooperating and his eyes might have spilled over, just a little. “Tony,” he managed.

Peter’s brow furrowed for one tiny, heart-wrenching second before his face smoothed out in a little smile. It wasn’t the happiest smile, weighed down with grief, but it was real and it was there. “Tony,” Peter repeated, and buried his face in Tony’s chest again, not noticing the way that Tony’s heart almost stopped in surprise. Peter said his name with the same tone, the same cadence and pitch, that he did with Ben’s, as if they were synonyms to be said in the same breath. Not identical, since Ben could never be replaced, but joined together, as though Peter had them on an even footing in his heart. And if something broke in him when Peter called him Ben, something else was fixed when Peter called his name in that same voice.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, slowly relaxing under Peter’s hold. “I’ve got you.”  
.  
.  
Tony woke up on the beat-up old couch in the workshop, which was a pretty normal occurrence. What was not a normal occurrence was finding a red-eyed Peter curled up next to him with his hands wrapped tightly around Tony’s shirt. He stayed for all of about one minute before his skin started to prickle and he squirmed away from the kid, replacing himself with a sweatshirt in the kid’s grip.

“Time, FRIDAY?” he said, nearly tripping over the mess they’d left covering the floor.

“It is 6:47 AM on Sunday, June 8th, Boss. The weather outside is 62 degrees and cloudy.”

Tony nodded as he stumbled into the elevator. “Tell the kid to head upstairs when he wakes up,” he told her. In the meantime, hanging out and watching a teenager sleep was firmly in the category of Creepy Old Rich Dudes, so he retreated to his bedroom and for a shower and a change of clothes before settling on a plush couch with his tablet and a cup of coffee. The sun coming through the windows was so bright that he almost got back up to find his sunglasses.

Peter woke up around 9, and Tony could actually feel his thoughts coming back online. It was odd to say the least. The kid soon walked into the penthouse, dragging his feet, and proceeded to raid Tony’s fridge as if he owned the place. 

“Hey, kid. Sleep well?” said Tony, not moving from his spot on the couch.

Peter jerked his head up from the banana he’d been chewing on. “Yeah T--Mr. S--I mean Tony! I don’t know what you did, but it knocked me out pretty good.”

“I was just trying to calm you down. I might have overshot a little,” Tony admitted. _I didn’t mean to make you pass out. You seemed a little out of it. _

Peter laughed. “Yeah, maybe. I’m fine now, though.” _I think he really loves me… it was like getting overloaded by a giant love bomb. I felt so safe. _

Tony turned away before Peter could catch of glimpse of his expression. _What do I do with that? Do I acknowledge? Do I ignore it, since he didn’t say it? What if he goes in for a hug? I don’t think I could handle that right now. Dang it, it’s too early for this! I wish I could get a drink._

Fortunately, Peter took pity on him and didn’t bring up either of their thought processes. “Have you had breakfast yet? Do you want me to grab you anything while I’m over here?” he said.

“Nah, I’m fine,” said Tony.

Peter shrugged and drifted over to peek at Tony’s tablet over his shoulder. “Whatcha working on?” he asked.

“Just catching up on some paperwork,” Tony said. “You should tell those little intern friends of yours to stop causing explosions, by the way. Everytime they make one I have to sign off on another stupid safety sheet thing! What was Kyle doing yesterday afternoon that caused this?” He shook the tablet above his head with mock rage, and was just about to go back to signing things when an idea occurred to him.

“Oh no,” said Peter, backing away. “I heard that! We are not doing that.”

“Aw,” Tony grinned. “But all I want to know is why he calls you Junior all the time. Are you going to answer that for me, Pete?”

Peter turned tail and ran while Tony cackled. _Oh no, oh crap, he’s going to figure it out and Kyle’s going to get fired and Tony will never look at me again! _

Tony rolled his eyes and hoped the sentiment carried over to Peter. _I promise not to fire Kyle over something I have no evidence for other than your thoughts. _

_I’m pretty sure I would be worse off than Peter if I ever decided to shut him out. _

Tony clapped a hand over his mouth, despite being the only one in the room and not having said anything out loud at all. He had definitely not meant to think that second part when Peter could hear it. He waited anxiously, but there was no obvious response from Peter until Tony was suddenly pulled into a memory that wasn’t his own.

_A group of interns was gathered around him, all older and somewhat intimidating. But Peter was Spider-Man, he reminded himself, and he squared his shoulders and faced them with as much confidence as he could._

_“How did you possibly score the spot as Stark’s personal intern?” asked a bearded guy in a _’Save the Earth’_ t-shirt. “I didn’t even know he took personal interns.”_

_“I--um, well, I applied for a grant, and he’d seen me on YouTube uh… improving Stark Phones, so he came to, well, to interview me, and I guess he liked me enough to… yeah.” Peter shrugged helplessly._

_“No way,” said a plump lady with Chinese features. “There’s just… that doesn’t happen.”_

_“Well, it’s not like Tony Stark hasn’t done weirder stuff,” a tall guy with glasses pointed out. At the same time, the bearded one gasped dramatically._

_“Guys!” he said excitedly. “I’ll bet this kid is Stark’s illegitimate son! He’s the right age, and just look at him.”_

_Peter’s face heated up, and he thought he probably looked like a tomato with legs. “No!” he sputtered. “I’m not, I mean, he didn’t--I’m just a kid from Queens!”_

_“Sure,” said the girl, raising her eyebrows before turning to the others. “It’s obviously a secret, you idiots. Don’t any of you dare ruin this.”_

_Peter’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t even make words anymore. The other interns were nodding, as if this made perfect sense._

_“Don’t worry, we won’t rat you out to the press,” said the bearded guy, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Junior, I’m Kyle.” _

The memory fizzled out, leaving Tony sitting there with no words. _They think he’s my son,_ he thought in shock. He could feel Peter’s worry distantly, but how could he be mad at the kid for this? He’d tried to tell them, after all. And it wasn’t really even a strange conclusion for the interns to make, but… Tony’d never thought about how this would look to people who actually knew how he worked. If he did have an illegitimate son, this was probably what he’d actually do.

“You… what?” said Peter’s voice. Tony whirled around so fast his back popped.

“Kid,” he said, before taking a moment to gather himself. “Trust me, if I had a son I would have no idea what to do with him. So yeah, I’d probably treat him like you, who I also don’t know what to do with.”

Peter blushed. “I think you’re doing pretty good, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” he said. “You said it before, no take-backs now.”

“Right,” said Peter. “I think you’re doing pretty good, Tony.” They grinned at each other, and left it at that.

“Workshop,” said Tony abruptly. “C’mon, we’re going.” _Too many emotions. I think I’ve hit my quota for the entire year._ Peter followed him.  
.  
.  
Peter worked hard to act normally that day, despite occasional mental freakouts. He and Tony could both hear each time one of them thought too hard about their situation, and Peter followed his mentor’s lead in just ignoring it. Neither commented when Peter followed Tony out to find some food instead of staying in the workshop by himself again.

“Hey, Tony?” said Peter, halfway through an egg roll.

“Hmm?” Tony glanced up from his own orange chicken.

Peter took a deep breath. “You remember yesterday, when the car fell on me and I got all freaked out, but then you did that thing and I fell asleep?”

“...Yeah,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow as if daring Peter to comment further. _Please don’t talk about more emotions at me. I wasn’t kidding about the overload thing._

Peter felt heat rush to his face, but he soldiered on anyway. “How did you do that?”

Tony paused for so long that Peter wondered if he’d broken him. He couldn’t even get a good hold on his mentor’s thoughts, so they must have been going around in circles at a dizzying pace. “I just really wanted you to go back to feeling fine,” Tony finally admitted, “so I kind of just pushed that at you until you did, and hoped you wouldn’t die.” _I just shoved all the lov--that is, happy memories I had of us at him and hoped it’d get through. It’s a good thing there were so many of them. He was scaring me, I didn’t know what else to do._

“Thanks,” said Peter, looking away to hide his smile. _I knew it. _

“Don’t get all mushy on me now, Parker,” Tony said, standing. “We’ve still got lots of work to do.”

Peter swallowed the rest of his egg roll and followed.

Around nine o’ clock Tony started yawning and blinking more heavily. _How late was he awake with me last night?_ Peter couldn’t help thinking. Tony shook himself and shot Peter a look. “I’m fine, kid, we can work as long as you want.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Stark,” Peter told him. Tony didn’t even notice the name change. Peter subtly watched the clock as Tony periodically shifted and popped his back. At 9:20 Peter yawned hugely and stretched.

“A bit tired there, kid?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” said Peter, squashing down his thoughts.

At 9:30 Peter started fumbling with smaller parts. He dropped one on the ground and just stared at it for a good 30 seconds before leaning down to pick it up. Distantly, he heard Tony’s thoughts take note of it, and Peter hid a smile. At 9:42 he groaned just a little and put his head down on his arms, letting his mind drift. He wasn’t sure how long this part of the plan would take.

After a few minutes, Peter found his eyes actually starting to droop. But he also heard Mr. Stark’s thoughts take a turn.

_The kid looks exhausted. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had a tiring night last night, but really? 9:45? I guess I can’t complain. He’s not asleep yet, so now’s probably the time to get him up to his room…_

Peter sensed Tony coming up behind him, but he forced himself to remain limp and relaxed. If he was honest, it wasn’t that hard. Tony stopped beside him.

_Okay. There’s been a lot the past couple days, but I can do this one more time. Just reach out and shake his shoulder or something, it’s fine, he won’t be mad. If there’s one thing Pete loves, it’s hugs and crap. Pepper says I need to combat that stupid “hungry skin” thing anyway, which for some reason she thinks I’ve got. Just reach out, just…_

Peter did his best to squash his surprise at hearing Tony give himself a pep talk for something as simple as waking him up. _I’ll look up… purple elephants… later _ he told himself cautiously. Before his thoughts could betray him further, Mr. Stark ruffled a hand through his hair. _Oh, that feels good,_ Peter thought, completely on accident. 

He picked up an answering feeling of relief from Tony before the man could squash it, and after a moment the hand was a little awkwardly withdrawn. “Time for bed, kid,” Tony said. “Tomorrow’s another weird day.”

“I can keep working,” Peter mumbled like he always did. _I am actually way more tired than I thought._

“I see that,” said Tony with a grin. “Bed.” _ How often has this kid stayed up way too late because of his own stubbornness?_

_ Far too many times,_ Peter thought back wryly. He and Tony got into the elevator and silently waited through the smooth ride up to the penthouse. Tony was leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, and Peter didn’t want to disturb him. He hoped his plan would work.  
.  
.  
Tony shooed his kid into his room and then retreated back to his own space to brush his teeth. He was about to fall asleep on his feet, and he knew even Peter had noticed. It felt like gravity had decided to grab hold of his head with more force than usual and was now pulling it closer and closer to the ground. However, when he fell into bed his eyes simply wouldn’t close.

Tony laid there for minutes on end, but sleep didn’t come. He growled at the ceiling, shifting to a more comfortable spot. He tried again and again, but his brain just would not shut off. Checking up on Peter, he realized that his kid wasn’t sleeping either. He hoped it wasn’t his fault.

Peter must have noticed the quick probe, because Tony felt for a moment as though Peter had just opened his door a crack to look inside before paying attention to him more fully. 

_Tony?_

_Hey, kid. Can’t sleep?_

_More like you can’t,_ thought Peter. _I have an idea, though, can I try it?_

_Do your worst._

Tony figured Peter was going to try to make him drink hot chocolate or read a book or something. He was not expecting a careful, cautious little warmth to start fluttering in his chest like a baby bird. It felt like Peter. Tony let out a slow breath and finally began to relax. Ever so gently, ever so shy, the warmth stretched its wings over and around. “Oh,” said Tony softly to the empty room. Was this how Peter had felt down in the workshop that day?

_Yes_ emanated from the warmth surrounding him. Tony realized he was smiling, even as his eyes seemed to close of their own volition. Soft feathers were hugging him, and it felt like Peter was soothing him to sleep with ease, coating him in a floaty sort of affection with no expectations attached. He could almost hear the distant sound of a thousand different lullabies that had sung Peter to sleep, and he felt a phantom gentle touch, as if someone was sitting beside him. Warm light was wrapping him up safer than he’d ever been. His chest was so full that he could have burst, but instead Tony simply breathed, in and out, and if a tear or two soaked into his pillow there was no one there to see it. He wanted to stay suspended like this forever, but before even two minutes had passed he was out like a light. His dreams were full of birds and sunlight and Peter’s happy laughter mingling with his own.  
.  
.  
Peter could tell exactly when Tony slipped off into dreamland. He gave it a few more minutes, just to be sure, before sitting up in bed and opening his laptop.

Skin hunger: the psychological need for physical touch and care. It could be something as simple as a hug or a pat on the back, but apparently going without physical touch for too long could be seriously damaging. _Tony doesn’t exactly have a lot of opportunities to hug people, does he?_ Peter realized. Pepper was probably right, just based on what he knew about Tony’s current lifestyle. But there had to be more to it than that!

Tony avoided touch whenever possible. He didn’t reach out to his friends, at least not when Peter was there, and he had barely ever reached out for Peter. He thought back to the weird little pep talk he’d heard Tony give himself before shaking Peter on the workbench. Was Tony so scared or rejection that he barricaded himself away rather than risk it? The concepts of Tony Stark and afraid didn’t really mix in Peter’s head, but he couldn’t seem to come up with a better explanation. Why on earth would Tony be worried about Peter’s reaction after all this time? Peter’s increasing questions whirled around in his head until he finally shut off the computer and went to sleep.  
.  
.  
When Peter woke up on Monday morning, he could tell that Tony’s thoughts were spinning. Unfortunately, he couldn’t pick out any individual thoughts to tell him what had caused the spinning in the first place. Since he couldn’t really do anything from his bed anyway, Peter got up and headed to the kitchen for some much-needed breakfast. He couldn’t tell if he was enormously hungry or if Tony was also sending him feelings of hunger, but either way he found his mentor frying an omelette when he stumbled into the kitchen.

“Hey, Tony.”

“Pete?” said Tony, turning around. “How long have you been awake?”

Peter stared at him. _Did this mean…?_ “A few minutes. You couldn’t tell?”

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” Tony admitted, and Peter felt the man’s excitement. 

“I can feel your feelings,” he said, “but I don’t think I can hear words anymore.”

“Me too,” said Tony. 

Peter whooped and did a backflip onto the ceiling. Then he laughed at the sensation of Tony’s surprise and amusement. “No offence, but I’ll be glad to have you out of my head.”

“None taken, Kiddo,” Tony said. “There’s only so much teenager my fully adult brain can handle.”

“Yeah right,” said Peter. “I’m hungry.”

Breakfast was great. Peter was relishing in the fact that his thoughts were his own again, and judging by Tony’s constant thrum of happiness, he was as well. However, it wasn’t long before Peter realized that the talk he wanted to have with Tony would now be infinitely harder. He started bouncing nervously as he thought about what he wanted to say, and how Tony might react. Honestly, he was lucky that Tony hadn’t already left him alone so the man could go and stew in his emotional struggles.

“Just spit it out, kid, I can feel your nerves from here,” Tony finally said, setting down his empty plate.

Peter opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and hesitated. “Promise you’ll talk about it with me?”

Tony stared at him for a long moment. “I’ll try.”

Peter could tell Tony was confused, so that was probably as good as he was going to get. He took a deep breath. “Okay, yesterday I overheard... or would that be overfelt? Overthought? Anyway, I noticed you thinking about something called skin hunger so I looked it up last night and it really seems to fit with some other stuff you were thinking. But then also you, like, avoid touch all the time, even with your friends from what I’ve seen, so that doesn’t make any sense to me. And I just wanted you to know that if you ever want a hug or something from me just go for it, because I obviously love that kind of crap anyway, but if you don’t want to that’s okay too, I know you also have Miss Potts and Col. Rhodes and stuff and I don’t want to assume--”

Tony held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you there, Kid.”

Peter looked down and fidgeted with his fingers. Tony was probably going to chew him out now, but Peter’s nerves were blocking out any idea of what Tony was currently feeling. For a second he wished that they could still hear each other’s thoughts, just so he could be aware of what was going through Tony’s head. Peter jerked up in surprise when Tony actually started talking.

“I… if you hadn’t been literally in my head for the last two days… Kid, I’ve seen your aunt and my dad was the exact opposite of that, okay? And there are only so many people I can trust here, and when it’s not something I ever really got used to in the first place… Pepper’s probably right, but I can’t just do anything about it right now. I don’t like trying to...” he gestured between himself and Peter, “you know, and I’m honestly terrible at it anyway. Sometimes I just can’t, you know?”

Tony wouldn’t meet Peter’s eyes though his whole little speech, but Peter could feel that the man was part nervous and part… ashamed? Honestly, his words just made Peter want to cry a little bit and wrap Tony in one of his apartment’s fluffiest blankets.

“I’m going to hug you right now,” Peter announced. “Unless you say something to stop me in the next three seconds.”

Tony was silent. He still wouldn’t meet his eyes when Peter reached over, but he was feeling something like relief. 

“You give good hugs,” said Peter, squished against Tony’s side. “For future reference, I will now be hugging you every time we see each other unless you tell me not to real fast.”

“Okay,” Tony said quietly, and they just stayed like that for a while. 

“All right, get off of me so we can throw these in the dishwasher and do some science. What kind of sap do you take me for?”

“The biggest kind.”

“What the actual--Kid! Get back here!”

Peter’s laugh echoed down the hall. He kept running.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know really anything about skin hunger, but I did read these:  
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/lifetime-connections/201501/skin-hunger-why-you-need-feed-your-hunger-contact  
https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/d3gzba/the-life-of-the-skin-hungry-can-you-go-crazy-from-a-lack-of-touch
> 
> Thanks for reading, drop a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed/want to give me feedback!


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